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July 25 - July 28, 2023
I’m literally touching Pax. I’m holding his wrist back like he’s a real person on my plane of existence, and it feels like sunshine pouring into my veins.
I can’t believe it. Never in my life could I have dreamed this moment, that the veil around Bree would become so thin that we could touch each other through it,
that she’d feel like plucking the first wild strawberries of summer, or like the opening paragraph of a book you’ve been waiting to read.
“I love these! You should make that one your dating profile pic. You know, ‘My Folio bringeth all the boys to the yard—” “And they’re like, ‘It’s better than thine—”
The dog tilts his head into Ambrose’s embrace. He must be able to sense the warmth of Ambrose’s joy.
Dogs can’t see ghosts, but ducks definitely can.
“Hey, what’s your number? I’ll text you mine. Maybe we could go for a drink sometime?” “I’d love that.” Mina’s smile makes my chest tight.
“Did you hear that, Bree?” Ambrose stands up and squeezes my hand. “She’d love that. See, you can make normal friends, too.” Right. Friends who are vampire-slayer amateur sleuths with a harem of boyfriends and a talking raven. That’s totally normal. Mina and I are made for each other.
This stone will amplify your powers, and enable you to reach even further beyond the veil.
Even though we’ve been separated by thousands of miles, I’ve kept them with me every single day, inside my heart.
Ambrose’s delight at the world woke me up every morning with the belief that today would be better than yesterday.
Whenever a boss refused to pay me or a hostel tried to rip me off, I channeled Edward’s stubborn belief that the world should bend to his will.
And Pax…where would I be without his self-defense lessons and his love of baked goods?
Any time I told myself that I shouldn’t eat that exotic pastry or jump off that towering cliff, I asked myself what Pax would do, and I dived right in.
I am not good with women. I am a champion stabber, a world-class Druid slayer, a brilliant brawler, and a passable tenor. But when it comes to romance, I come from the ‘throw them over your shoulder and fuck them until their legs turn to jelly’ school of seduction.
Even though I’ve been wanting to see this movie, I spend more time watching him than the screen. Every time someone leans toward the camera, he jerks away or growls until the camera moves away. At one point, Benedict’s character gets into a bar fight, and Pax leaps to his feet and starts swinging punches at the air.
“That’s what you get for messing with Buffalo Crumperbunts!” “His name is Benedict Cumberbatch,” I say. Pax’s smile grows wide with mischief. “Bumblesnuff Crimpysnitch.”
“Why doesn’t Bonkyhort Cuttlefish simply pull out his sword and run the fiend through?”
“Why not? It is the most efficient method. If you stab problem, no more problem. See?”
“Take that, foul vappa! You have the breath of sour wine! How dare you sully the name of Bendynoodle Custardbath.”
Unfortunately, the current scene in the film has Bendysnack – I mean Benedict – discovering that his mother has been tragically killed, and I’m now chortling while the rest of the theatre is sniffling.
“I am, although I think the film went over Pax’s head a little.” “I believe it,” Ambrose says. “Pax has explained to me what happened, but I’m more confused than ever. Is Butterscotch Cutiebrunch the grizzled army commander or the tough-as-nails pub brawler?”
My fingers graze his cheek, and my breath catches. I’m touching Ambrose.
I can smell him, too – fresh and zesty and brimming with sunshine. My fingers linger on his cheek. His body stiffens. His long eyelashes flutter. “Bree…” he murmurs.
I want to lick the sunshine from Ambrose’s lips.
What happens if a human and a ghost kiss?
See? Ambrose isn’t thinking about jumping your bones. You’re imagining all of this fire and sizzle.
Not even a shirtless Benedict emerging from a waterfall can hold my attention when Ambrose is here.
“So that’s Birdiebeak Cribblysnitch,” Edward drawls as he slides into the empty seat. “Pax is right. He does look like me.”
“If someone were to play me in a movie about my life, I should like it to be him, although he’ll have to change his name. He is passably handsome, for an actor.”
“Ambrose prattled on, but I didn’t pay attention.” Edward lifts one of those gorgeous eyebrows and looks at me in a way that makes my heart leap into my throat. “I know we’re not here to watch the film.” “I’m here to watch the film.” “Please, Brianna. I am not clueless. This flat theatre is where modern people go to revel in lascivious acts.” Edward runs his tongue along his upper lip, and I cannot swallow, I cannot breathe.
“That’s what happens in all the moving pictures I’ve seen. And I passed a couple in the back row who are heavily involved in a lascivious act, although I think you and I can outdo them…”
“Edward, I’m not making out with you.” “Why not?” “Because…a million reasons.”
“Name seven.” “Seven? That’s a specific number.” “You said you could name a million. Well, I’m only asking for seven.” “A million is a figure of speech, like saying something is as hot as an oven.” I stall for time. It’s hard to think when his fingers dance sparks on my skin. “Okay, here’s a reason: you’re a ghost and I’m a Living. We’re not even supposed to talk to each other, so what’s going to happen if we kiss? It could blow a hole in the universe.”
“That won’t happen, because I am the universe and I don’t blow anything until a lady has had at least three orgasms.” Edward inclines his head toward his crotch. “Edward!”
How is this ugly man making carnal mischief with all those beautiful women when Brianna won’t even kiss me?
Her smile is opium and sunshine – warm and soft and addictive.
Her nipple hardens. I feel it. I feel her. My Brianna’s body blossoming beneath my touch, falling open like the petals of a flower. Oooh, that’s a good line. I shall add that to a poem.
I used to love fingering a countess under the table during a state banquet, or going down on a duchess under her writing desk while she took dictation for her oblivious husband – all the naughty things people didn’t know were happening right under their noses. And judging by the way Brianna squirms and presses herself back against me, she loves it, too.
“Ghosts, so melodramatic.” Dani rolls her eyes. “You have no idea.” “I resent that,” Edward says from his chair beside the fire. “I am exactly the right amount of dramatic.”
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you enjoy your not-date? At one point I looked over and you had your eyes closed and were gripping the stage so hard—” CRASH. CLATTER. BANG. Phew. Saved by another calamity.
He tastes of sweetness, and blood, and oak leaves caught in the rain. He tastes like home.
“You are so good,” he coos. “You are such a good girl.”
His heavy-lidded eyes watch me with something like worship. He holds out a hand. “Come here. Come down here with me.” I move toward him. “Do you believe me now? Do you believe that I haven’t chosen Edward over you?” “I believe anything those pretty lips want to say to me. Tell me that the stars revolve around the sun—” “—they do—” “—or that the Romans are weak, or that the gods don’t exist, and I will defend your lies to my dying breath.” I take his hand, and for a moment, as our fingers touch, I can see the faint glimmer of a silver thread wrapping around us both. My heart tugs. I blink, and
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The bird’s voice lands in my head, like it was there all along. My name is Quoth.
The bookshop you visited brings fictional characters to life.
The raven huffs. But he unfurls his wings. At first, I don’t see anything happening. There are no sparkles or “shazam!” sound. But then his wings grow outward. “Croak!” the raven cries, tossing its head. His legs lengthen, his body contorts, and the sound of bones snapping and muscles twisting rends the night. The raven tips forward off the sill onto my floor. What lands is a crouching man, his skin prickled with feathers that retract to reveal pale skin and lots of intricate, artistic tattoos. A waterfall of shimmering black hair falls down his back.
his hair falls away to reveal the most exquisite features and the same fire-rimmed eyes that first regarded me from the top of a bookshelf. Mina is a lucky, lucky woman.